Tim Burton and Lots of Fake Type Blood
by Iscrit Risana
Summary: please, don't kill me.
1. In the beginning, there was chaos

Tim Burton and Lots of Fake-Type Blood

Tim Burton and Lots of Fake-Type Blood

Me no own. You no sue. Okay? Okay.

_(We are in a dark-styled movie theatre full of fangirls, morbidly obese people, and Djaq.)_

Djaq: Why did you have to put me in your fanfic, Is?

Iscrit: SHUT UP SO WE CAN START THE CHEESING MOVIE!!(hyperventilate)

_(The beginning credits live up to their name and, well, begin. Djaq uses this time to figure out the timing for __Ballad__.)_

Djaq: F sharp, G major, A flat, C minor, mindless musical jabberings…Sweeney, Sweeney……

Entire Rest of Theatre: SHUTS UPS!! Edward Cullen just popped on screen!!

Djaq: He DID?!

_(Sure enough, Edward is, um__**, drinking**__ the pies, leaving small meat pie raisins everywhere.)_

Sweeney: MY MOVIE!! (shoves Edward back to alternate universe)

Fangirls: AWWWW! He's hotttttttttt! Like you!

Sweeney: Ummmmmm…'kay.

_(Screen blacks out, comes back on. Sweeney and Anthony are wandering about "the docks.")_

Strong Bad: I'll search down by "the docks."

Sweeney: MYYYY movie! Gosh people…

Anthony: LaLaLaLondon!! It's _wonderful_!

LaLaLaLondon!! It's Londonful!

Bells and stuff from PERUUUUUUUU!!

Sweeney: Shut up, idiot naïve sailor boy.

Anthony: Oh, Sweeneykins, what's wrong?

Audience: Uh…okay thence.

Sweeney: There was a barber and his wife, and she was SUPRA HAUTE!! She was his reason and his nightlife, yes…And then this judge guy like, is all like, DIE.

Anthony: I'm going to cry! (proceeds to do so)


	2. Hallelujah, it's raining The Pogues!

Review

Review! Please! You're my only hope!

_(Sweenie iss wandewin teh stweets- wait, what?)_ Fjdlgfohk;gk;f.g;fklagaopswevkjjyeap-MUCH BETTER!

_(Sweeney is wandering the streets of London looking for Mrs. Lovett's for free room and board, which she will give. Yesssss...she will give…)_

Djaq: Is, what's your problem? Don't you know not to use Algerian font ever?

Iscrit: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (INHALE)HHHHHHH

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!(hyperventilate) _Anyways…_

_(We see Sweeney walking past a very noisy apartment that eternally rains drunken Irish band members. Strains of "Christmas Bells" by The Pogues float eerily around the empty alleyway.)_

Sweeney: Augh! Happy music! I feel the need to shower for ten hours!

_(We now see Mrs. Lovett standing waist-deep in cockroaches in her shop.)_

Most Girls in Theatre: Ewwwww! Bugs! Ugrh... (barf)…blek… (barf)

Random Hygienist: (die)

_(A drunken Irish band member named Spyder falls on Sweeney, rendering him unconscious. This prompts Mrs. Lovett to rush out of the shop in mock "concern for the rest of the world.")_

Spyder: One summer's evenin' drunk teh hell… (wanders off to Nicaragua to torment Juliette Bridges at 3:00 AM)

Sophie: What is my mom doing in this thing? What do The Pogues have to do with Sweeney Todd?

Iscrit: Shut UP!!

_(Mrs. Lovett is now bending over Sweeney, thinking to herself he looks rather like a skunk.)_

Mrs. Lovett: Hey! (prod, prod) Wake up!

Sweeney: groan, gurgle, moan

Mrs. Lovett: OOOOOHHHHHH….. (bursts into fast song) thoughtcha was a ghost, pie, sir?

Sweeney: Ghost piezer?

_(Mrs. Lovett does not notice, she instead crams a large meat pie raisin into Sweeney's mouth.)_

Mrs. Lovett: Gives ya what ails ya!

Sweeney: (gag, barf, fall) I demand you tell me about the disturbing incident of the room upstairs, which I want to rent! (strikes royal pose)

Mrs. Lovett: There was a barber and his wife, and he was SUPRA HAUTE!! But Snape gave him a one-way ticket to Australia…sob…anyway, then Snape changed his name to Turpin and gave up teaching to sentence small boys to _DEATH!! _And he raped the barber's wife at-

_(Sweeney falls unconscious again, holding up a sign that says "KILL ME.")_

Mrs. Lovett: OMG!! You're Benjy!! I might die!! Of happiness!! And your overall sexiness!!(faint)

_(Sweeney holds up a sign that reads "KILL ME MORE.")_

Mrs. Lovett: (rising) Hey, hey! I've got a jar of di-irt, I've got a jar of di-irt, and guess what's inside it?

Sweeney: Shut up potion?

Mrs. Lovett: No-o! Guess again!

Sweeney: Um…Lucy?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, she was anorexic, but not _that_ anorexic…maybe I should become anorexic…Guess again!

Sweeney: Uh…dirt?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, DUH!!

Sweeney: JUST TELL ME ALREADY, CRAZY WOMAN!!(pant pant)

Mrs. Lovett: Okay! Jeez, it's your razors.

Sweeney: ZOMG!! (lunges for jar, Mrs. Lovett pulls it up at the last minute)

Mrs. Lovett: What's the magic word?

Sweeney: Uh…evil rainbow fairy unicorns named Milo?

Mrs. Lovett: Good Sweeney. (pats him on the head and hands him the jar)

Sweeney: Yayers! (cracks jar open)

Mrs. Lovett: You broke my jar of dirt!

Sweeney: (singing to the tune of the can-can) Razors, pointy pointy razors, pointy pointy razors, pointy shiny razors razors razors razors razors, pointy pointy razors, pointy pointy razors, pointy shiny razors razors razors razors…

_(This continues for several long and boring minutes.)_

Mrs. Lovett: Hey, I've got a great idea! You could move in here and be my husband for all the rest of eternity, oh love of my life!

Sweeney:(does not notice or pretends not to notice) …razors, pointy shiny razors razors razors razors razors, pointy pointy razors, pointy poin-

Mrs. Lovett: You like those razors more than me, oh love of my life!

Sweeney: -ty razors, pointy shiny-What? Of course I likes them more than you!

Mrs. Lovett: But I'm an animate object, oh love of my life!

Sweeney: Quit calling me that already!

Mrs. Lovett: Calling you what, oh love of my life?

Sweeney:AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! I've got fangirls already!

Fangirls: We were here in the opening credits, oh love of our lives!

_(Sweeney proceeds to have a nervous breakdown, and clutches his razors to him like a five-year old with a teddy bear. A pointy metal dangerous teddy bear.)_

Mrs. Lovett: What's wrong, oh love of my life?

Sweeney: You.


	3. Oops, I'm Making Religious Stereotypes

Yes, it's been an eon since I last updated. Commence waving signs and yelling "Huelga! Huelga!" at the top of your lungs.

_(Holy crap, it's some blond girl on the _Enterprise_. I mean, at a window. Singing. To some birds. Aforementioned crazy sailor dudeman is standing somewhere below the window.)_

Johanna: My life is depressing…my life is depressing…

Anthony: Oh, backtwigglers. I think I'm in love, even though I've never talked to this girl in my life, and I don't even know her name.

Johanna: (falls out window onto some kind of crazy old her mom)

Crazy Old Her Mom: Give me money. (suddenly pulling out a feather boa and waving it frantically in the air) Wingardium Leviosa!

(Johanna flies back through her window and lands upside-down on her bed, much to the delight of Snape, who has been watching this whole time.)

Snape: Oooooh…aaaaaah... (has a pedophile seizure)

Some Old Guy: That's unnatural!

Some Mormon Guy: Uh…no it's not.

Iscrit: Oops, I'm making religious stereotypes again. I'm probably not sorry.

Anthony: (proceeds to starve self until he sees Johanna again, singing the entire time)

I'm in love…..yay! HoooooooooooRAY!!!! HOOOOOOOOOORAY!!!!!

I don't know your NAAAAAAAAME!

(windows break, and Johanna's curtains proceed to die slowly, giving Anthony a good view of her Requiem-ing over the curtains.)

Johanna: You curtains were my only friends…Oooh! Sexy blond sailor boy! Sorry, curtains, I'm suddenly preoccupied.

Snape: I suspect absolutely nothing.

Wormtail: Oh good. It's my turn to be perceptive. That never happens.

(Snape walks outside to attempt to go all Trent on that sexy blond sailor boy who's conveniently standing outside his lair.)

Crazy Old Her Mom: Augh! The memories! (runs back to the sea from whence she came)

Snape: Yeah, you run away. So…sexy blond sailor boy, let's go get _slightly_ less appropriate than _polite_ society will condone!

Anthony: I am so innocent that I don't know what you're talking about.

Snape: Okay, then I'll get Wormtail to _slightly_ kill you with my dirty books instead!

(Wormtail proceeds to do so. Anthony faints like a girl with even less gumption than usual.)

Russell Baker's Mom: Get you gumption up and sell them newspapers, Anthony Anthony Baker! It's Sunday night already!

Students in Mrs. Fennel's Seventh Grade English Class: Irony…that can cut like a knife…

Trent: I must have her…to WIIIIIIIIIIIIFE!!!!!(gets kicked off the planet by the rest of the world)

Students in Mrs. Fennel's Seventh Grade English Class (and the entire population of Los Angeles): Yaaaay!

Iscrit: Let's stop now before Trent comes back and ruins my morale even more.


	4. I Think I'm an Atheist Now

It's the next one! Sorry I exploded you, Amber.

_(Sweeny and Mrs. Lovett find themselves walking through a crowded marketplace for no apparent or particular reason. Everyone, for some reason, is wearing Dramatic Hollywood Black and Muted Bloody Red, except for an overweight sixty-four-year-old hippy of doom wearing an obnoxious amount of tie-dye and like, fifteen different headbands.)_

Hippy: What the crap? Hugs not bad horror movies! Hugs not bad horror movies! Oh, crapness and sunshiney flowers, that doesn't rhyme._ (disappears, with a sigh of relief from the audience and the extras)_

Sweeney: Please, Mrs. Lovett, stop me if I try to go all Wiccan on that tofu…uh.... sixteen-foot pile, of.

Mrs. Lovett: Please revise grammar.

Sweeney: _(jumping back in horror into the sixteen-foot pile of tofu)_ Augh! She's a robot movie version of Microsquash Word!

Mrs. Lovett: (ceasing to be the robot movie version of Microsquash Word) Oh, crapcraptastic. What the bloody hell just happened?

Amber: _(running out of the movie theatre)_ No! NO NO NO NO! I can't take it anymore! Stop mildly cursing in my general direction and vicinity!

Iscrit: Geez, Amber, crap crap crap. Hell stupid damn. Oh, and flatulence.

Amber: _(explodes in a big, fiery cataclysm of evil)_

Tim Burton: Can we get back to the movie now? Please? I mean, I don't want to push anything, but-

Iscrit: Whatever you said, no. Okay. Getting back to the movie.

Sweeney: It's about time!

Mrs. Lovett: Hey, don't you know that guy in extremely tight pants who's making a fool of himself over there?

Sweeney: No, and I don't want to. Let's go find out who he is. And then kill him with a teapot.

**OOPS, THAT WAS A SPOILER. I'M NOT SORRY.**

Mrs. Lovett: Okay. I don't like life much today anyway. This, I think, will count as suicide.

Sweeney: _(hopefully wanting Mrs. Lovett to give him clues on how to silently kill her if he has nothing better to do) _Oh, why?

Mrs. Lovett: Cause his the Cheat just started singing. _(dun dun dun!)_

The Cheat: Meh meh meh. Habilijeemeh. Mehjileebameh. Douglas.

(Out pops Strong Bad in tight, shiny pants.)

Strong Pirelli: A-singin' come on, Fhqwgads, a-singin' come on, Fhqwgads-

Everybody to the limit, everybody to the limit,

Everybody, come on, Fhqwgads!

Sweeney: Uh…ideas…ideas…ideas…ideas...

God: CHALLENGE HIM TO A SHAVING CONTEST!

Sweeney: Why?

God: ISCRIT RISANA, CAPITALIZE MY NAME!

Iscrit: Jeez, GOD, settle down! In my world, you're just a fan fiction character anyway. Oh, blaspheme, blaspheyou, blasphaeverybody in the room! Sorry, that's a six-person joke.

Sweeney: Answer my question _NOW_!

GOD: OKAY, JEEZ. UH…I DON'T REALLY KNOW. I'M JUST BORED.

Sweeney: Okay! Here goes! Uh…Mr…uh…

Strong Pirelli: Call me "The Leg"

Sweeney: Like, tape-leg?

Strong Pirelli: No. Like, short for, "The Legend." Cause I am one.

GOD: HIS NAME'S STRONG PIRELLI.

Sweeney: I think I'm an atheist now. Anyway…Strong Pirelli, I'm challenging you to a completely random shaving contest. Of doom. It must be good, because I added "of doom" to the end.

Strong Pirelli: Sure, I'm doesn't have anything better to do.

(Sweeny and Strong Pirelli both drag unwilling participants by their noses out of the audience and start systematically shaving the everloving crap out of their six-foot Gimli-worthy beards. Strong Pirelli proceeds to sing while doing so.)

Fangirls: SWEENEY"S NOT BEING SEXY ENOUGH!!!!!(proceed to sue the pants off of Tim Burton)

Sweeney: (sexily shaves his guy in .0000000000003 seconds) Done and done, Fraser.

Strong Pirelli: Ow! My pride! It burns!

Sweeney: Imma blow this popsicle stick. Afore things gets oogly.

Wormtail: (popping out of a cloud that just died all over Sweeney's feet) I'm inviting myself over to your place for shaving cream pie this week. Is that okay with you?

Sweeney: Uh…

Mrs. Lovett: Yes. That's fine. Please. Now we're gonna go…place.

Sweeney: (out of earshot) That's all you could come up with?!?!? "Place?"

Mrs. Lovett: Ho-humsighfaintdie. I can't please anyone.

Entire Audience: Yes, we noticed.


	5. Revenge of the Analogy Police

Hey people! It's another one! Oh, quick, duck, its flying satire!

_(Oooh, look, everyone, it's Sweeney. Pacing sexily all over his "tonsilly parsley.")_

Fangirls: _(glomp)_

Random Shaker Lady: Ah! It's a dude!

Random Catholic Dude: Ah! I feel lust for the first time ever! And it's for a guy! Uh…is this a sin? I think so. But I don't remember. I shoulda paid more attention in Confirmation class. AVEMARIAAVEMARIAAVEMARIA!!!!

The Pope: Ah! Fan fiction is a sin! Gemme out gemme out!

Iscrit: Ah! I just got mobbed by Focus on the Family and Rush Limbaugh!

Mrs. Lovett: _(walking into the tonsilly parsley)_ So-o, sexy…

Sweeney: Don't call me that.

Mrs. Lovett: Anyway, Strong Pirelli's here to tell you secrets. And he's left his the Cheat downstairs with me for gin and gossip_. (bounces down the stairs like a schoolgirl who just saw Robert Pattinson..._naked_.)_

Sweeney: I LOVE SECRETS!!!!!!!

Strong Pirelli: _(walking in to the tonsilly parsley)_ Hey, guess what?

Sweeney: What? Is Britney Spears really getting married to that kid from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?

Strong Pirelli: Uh…no. Where the crap did you get that from?

Sweeney: But Mrs. Lovett said you had a secret!

Strong Pirelli: Oh, right. The Secret Of All Secrets.

Sweeney: TELLTELLTELL!!!!!

Strong Pirelli: I'm actually an egg-headed guy in a Mexican wrestling mask.

Sweeney: THAT'S IT?!?!?!?!?

Strong Pirelli: Uh…yeah.

Sweeney: That is so anticlimactic I have to _sexily_ kill you with a teapot! _(proceeds to do so)_

Fangirls: I want Sweeney to sexily kill _me_ with a teapot!

Sweeney: No such luck. _(stuffs Strong Pirelli's body into a random BodyHider 3000® trunk)_

The Cheat: _(walking up stairs)_ Meh meh heelijimeh. _(sits down on BodyHider 3000®)_

_(Sweeney gets veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee__eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee__eeeee__eeeeeeeee__eeeery __nervous __at this.)_

Sweeney: Okaynowlet'sjustheadbackdownstairsnowshallwe?Imeannottonothing…

The Cheat: Meh meh. _(walks back down the stairs)_

Sweeney: _(exhales clichély)_

Strong Pirelli: _(dies rapidly and profusely)_

Mrs. Lovett: _(bursting into the room like Superman gone very, very, wrong)_ So, what just happened? His dumb the Cheat's out cold on the couch, drooling like a leaky anvil.

Analogy Police: We gonna have to detain you for that one.

Mrs. Lovett: _(opens up a Tupperware fulla cockroaches on the Analogy Police)_ Take that, figments of my imagination!

Some Froofy Psychologist: You have acute schizophrenia-_(is killed by Ms. DeLaO)_

Ms. DeLaO: _(wiping the blood from her hands (as she walks from the grave, no one was sa-aved)_ Would you like to tell me about your problems, Sweeney?

Sweeney: Uh…no.

Ms. DeLaO: But how do you _feel_ about being a serial killer?

Sweeney: I'm not yet. I'm just a murderer now. Quit giving away my obvious decline into more madness than I already have. Audience, getter!

Audience: _(getters)_

Fangirls: THAT WASN'T SEXY ENOUGH FOR OUR HORMONAL LITTLE SELVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!_(sue the pants offa Tim Burton again)_

Sweeney: _(poledances on the barber chair, much to the chagrin of some old guy)_

Some Old Guy: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_(and rightly so)_

Fangirls: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_(and rightly so)_

Iscrit: Ulgh. I can't believe I just wrote that. And no, Microsquash Word, I _don't_ mean Olga instead of ulgh.


End file.
